


Rapture

by Stomiidae



Series: End Times [3]
Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apocalypse, Dogmatic Beliefs, Drug Dealing, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mass Murder, Multiple Universes Colliding, Obsession, Rapture, Religious Conflict, Suicide, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stomiidae/pseuds/Stomiidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So the world at large hadn't burned the night his father had predicted it would. That didn’t mean that the End wasn’t coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cover

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so the Mmy/Edgar story continues, you can find me on Tumblr and ff.net under the user name Stomiidae and as snaggletoothgrin on Deviantart. For your Mmy/Edgar fix I suggest visiting my tumblr for drabbles, arts not posted within the story and general tomfoolery. More Jthm characters showing up soon, hope you enjoy.

  
 "A New Beginning or . . . "


	2. Baggage

 

“Everything has a place. I know because I put them there.”

-The Administrator

[]

His hospital room was secluded. The detectives from the local PD came and went, each time opening a door that let a hailstorm of noise in. Edgar looked at the people waiting outside in the brief moment they were visible, reporters and photographers, police and curious patients. It was a big story the death of his entire family.

The man sitting beside his bed cleared his throat uncomfortably and shuffled through a few pages of his notepad. Their eyes met briefly, the detective looking away first. Edgar watched him squirm in his seat like a 12 year old itching to get out of service. Like Jeremiah and Aaron some days . . .

He’d been awake for six hours.

The door opened and a uniformed police officer leaned in to whisper something to the detective. They left the room together, door snapping shut behind them with a quiet click. Edgar stared numbly at the wall.

He was propped up in a hospital bed by several thin pillows, surrounded by stiff sheets and dressed in even stiffer hospital pajamas. It was cold and he felt strangely adrift, the air around him thin. He forced himself to breathe deeply.

_“In and out, just breathe.”_ He remembered the night he’d had the nightmare about the monster in the Community Center.  How it had stalked them, dragged Jimmy into the shadowy corners of the room. The sick sounds of him being torn apart were scarily similar to the sounds of his family eating dinner. 

The  cracking sound Jeremiah made when he tore the cartilage off of a chicken drumstick, Nathanial slurping spaghetti, his father chewing and swallowing. Mayra silhouetted at the edge of the bed in the strange middle ground of his dream and wakefulness, when the room was still half red from Jimmy’s blood, comforting him alongside his mother. 

_ “Breathe, I need you to breathe.” _

“-rson? Edgar?”

Edgar turned his head slowly, the man and uniformed police officer were standing by the door. He’d been so distracted he hadn’t even heard them come back in.

 “We spoke to the woman from the apartment you stayed in last night. Rachel Reid. She corroborated your whereabouts at the time of death-”

They’d taken him to the hospital first because he’d passed out. Once he’d woken up it was a short trip to the morgue to identify the bodies. That was when the reporters showed up after a few hours camped out around his family’s building talking to his neighbors. The police hadn’t been able to move him to the precinct for questioning due to the presence of the media outside.  So they’d kept him there and questioned him in the hospital room.

Edgar squinted, his eyes sore. They’d watched him carefully as they’d led him down the appropriate hallways and through the proper doors. He hadn’t felt all that talkative before seeing the most important people in his life being pulled out on their cold shelves in the bowels of the hospital. 

 “We have your sworn statement and she’s given hers as well. I can have this officer drive you to the hotel but you should know Ms. Reid has offered to drive you there.” 

They’d shown him Mayra first, and the visual confirmation that it hadn’t been a horrible nightmare had brought him to his knees. They’d pulled his sister’s body out on a sliding metal table just far enough for Edgar to see her head. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, hadn’t really allowed himself to think the entire way there, but the cold, washed out grey of her skin, the limp whorls of her hair haloing her head, the blue of her lips and bruising around her neck, had hit him like a fist to the gut.

The brutality of the damage to what he could see of her had wretched the most pathetic and wounded of cries from him. He’d sat on the floor heaving a foot away from someone he’d seen alive and breathing less than twenty-four hours ago.

“We’ve cleared the hallway, the officer will accompany you downstairs where Mrs. Reid is waiting.” The detective handed him a pamphlet and a business card. “We’re going to set you up a meeting with a counselor. This is a lot for anyone to process. You don’t have to do it on your own.”

_ On your own . . . _

His clothes were dropped into a pile on his lap. The two men cleared out of the room to give him some privacy. Edgar stared at it listlessly, confused. He was not sure how he’d ended up in the beige and grey-blues of the hospital alone. Last night he’d been terrified of looking out of the window, afraid he’d see the sun rise red on a half deserted world.

Instead he was shuffling out of an uncomfortable bed and trying to pull on his underwear and pants.  The officers had cleared the hall and he was unceremoniously led to an elevator that took them down to the parking level of the building.

The whole way down Edgar stared uncomprehendingly at the shiny metal of the elevator door near his feet. Someone behind him cleared their throat when the doors opened and Edgar looked up . . . at the face of a woman he did not recognize. And if the dark smudges of glittery makeup around her eyes were any indication she wasn’t an officer either. Sharp dark eyes took him in, her expression twisting disapprovingly. He looked at the detective to his right and sure enough the man motioned towards the woman with a derisive tilt of his head so Edgar stepped out of the elevator towards her.

“Mrs. Reid will be taking you to the building to gather some things and then to the hotel we’ve booked for you.” The officer muttered before walking towards a few fellow policemen near the patrol car parked several feet away.  Mrs. Reid offered Edgar an unsure little half smile.

“You probably don’t know but I’m Jimmy’s mother.” She held a slim, pale hand out for Edgar to shake. He took it out of reflex, scarcely knowing how to react to the metallic gold of her nails and strategic bareness of skin. The woman was tiny, as well. Smaller than his stepmother who’d had such a hard time handling her own pregnancies. That such a small, young person was a mother . . . she looked like she was in her mid-thirties. “Come on, let’s go get some of your things.” Her voice had a very faint rasp to it. She looped one of her arms around his back, as far as she could reach and patted him gently. 

“You have the address, right? La Quinta Inn? We have him booked for a week.”

He felt her wave them off behind him. She led him to an old, red Sundance and helped him into the passenger seat. By the time they were out of the parking structure and on the road he was reasonably nervous. What had he agreed to? What had he said to them?

They’d told him he wasn’t allowed to stay in the building overnight, that the police might need to visit it again soon because they weren’t sure about the cause of Mayra’s death. Hers specifically was different.

He thought back to the autopsy table, to the ring of bruises around her cold, grey neck.

“Hey.” Mrs. Reid tried to ply him with her half smile again as she drove them down a familiar path to his home. “I’m really sorry this is how we hav’ta meet. You’re a friend of my son, right? ”  

Jimmy had been drunk, and Edgar had felt so sorry for him, for the both of them for their perversion. 

“They said everything downstairs is off limits but you can take some clothes from upstairs. Just clothes though until they’re done with the walk through.” She was staring at the road with one hand on the wheel while the other scratched at her stud earring. She didn’t seem to need a response from him which was good because he didn’t have one.  “You can call me Rachel by the way.”

Rachel Reid, Jimmy’s tiny and badly-dressed mother, who was being so nice to him.

“Hey,” her voice broke through his thoughts, “you’ll get through this.” Her mouth twitched into a grimace and with her eyes still on the road Rachel dropped a hand from the steering wheel and reached out to touch his wrist where it was gripping his knee. “It’ll be okay.” 

For a moment Edgar just looked at her and felt a strange seething hatred roiling in his gut like a monster just beneath the surface of an ocean. It built for a moment and he fought the impulse to slam her head against the steering wheel before it suddenly drained away. Edgar was left with the pain of his loss and the shame of his thoughts.

He shook his head and looked out the window away from her. They were driving down familiar streets in unfamiliar circumstances, navigating the safest route he’d ever known in the aftermath of its devastation. Nothing would ever be okay again.

She pulled up to the front of his father’s building, her old Sundance squeaking to a stop. Edgar rushed out of the car, hurrying up the steps where an officer was waiting to let them in. Mrs. Reid followed more sedately.

The door opened to the sitting room. All of the furniture near the large couch had been pushed aside, presumably to make room for whoever had found his family. He felt an urge to straighten everything up, pain prickling behind his eyes as he took in glances of the settled disorder of the room. The older man accompanying them asked gently for Edgar not to touch anything, reminding him that it was still a crime scene. Mrs. Reid came up beside him and gently touched his elbow.

“Where was your room?”

Edgar looked down at her still fighting the knee-jerk instinct to shove her away. Vague markers of Jimmy’s face stared up at him and he reminded himself that several strangers had already listened to Edgar scream himself hoarse.

A thin sharp tendril of irritation peaked out from the low, aching thrum of distress before it too bleed away. He wondered where the other young man might be and why his mother was with Edgar at all.  

[]

Jimmy knelt further behind David’s shed, stuck in the hole he’d dug to hide his pharmaceuticals. The Nazi family was going back and forth, carrying boxes of their old and outdated flyers out of the basement and into the tiny aluminum shack Jimmy was crouched behind. 

“We’ll throw them away in a week or so.”

“David, pick up that crate of key chains. The ones your cousin Jesse ordered.”

Jimmy laid down on his side, pulling his washed out green hoodie to cover his face and neck. He could hear footsteps scuffling against the concrete floor.

“Put it over there.”

“That one’s gonna fall over.” David muttered. 

He kept as still as he could, not wanting to rattle any of the bottles in his duffel bag. Instead he sat in near perfect stillness for half an hour while they worked. His leg was itching, foot cramping. Jimmy thought about that for a moment because anything was better than thinking about that morning.

Everything was eerily muted, most people didn’t even know. It seemed like that would be news screamed down every street, people should be rioting or freaking out or something. What kind of family just—? What the hell had he gotten himself involved in? How the hell did he end up living next to people who did that sort of shit?

The moment he’d seen the lights he’d started packing. Everything had to be out of the apartment. It was only a matter of time before a cop came to check out where Edgar had been and no one guarded their property better than David’s skinhead, white nationalist family. 

He heard the sound of the latch on the back door of the house shut and turned to peek around the corner of the shed. The back yard was empty again. Carefully, in case someone happened to look outside, Jimmy rolled onto his knees and resumed digging deeper with the broken piece of tile he’d found in the alley. Another foot or so, Jimmy thought, and he’d be in the clear.

Fingers aching and hands sweaty he was finally able to shove the damn bag down and shovel all the dirt back with his arms and elbows, crouched on the ground like a spider. A hunk of their old wood fence was scooted over the spot so no one would step on the freshly turned dirt.

Jimmy slumped against the back of the shed, earrings clanking against the metal sheeting when he turned to look at the house. His stuff would be safe for awhile.

[]

The police officer watched him carefully as he pulled out a bag and started shoving clothes inside. He decided not to mention that it was his brother Jeramiah’s backpack, that in one of the pockets were the random objects he and Aaron would collect when out rallying. He wasn’t supposed to know about it but being in charge of them so often meant that there was little his younger brothers were able to successfully hide from him. 

He and Mayra had agreed that the tiny pocket of treasures was a harmless habit for the time being.

Edgar zipped up the bag and stood with Mrs. Reid’s help. He accepted the arm she put around his back, there was a comfort in the contact that there hadn’t been before. She walked him down the stairs and Edgar wished he was a child enough to crawl into the tiny woman’s embrace. Coming inside he’d been able to avoid looking at most of the wreckage but going down he couldn’t stop himself from seeing everything. 

Police tape, numbered cards, strange empty plastic bags with blue writing, everything was a mess. A bubble of painful pressure welled up again in his chest and he couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed the banister and sat, unwilling to go further down, unable to stop the guttural whine that eked out from between his gritted teeth. 

Mrs. Reid went down with him, crouching to wrap her bony arms around his shoulders. She rubbed his back while he pushed his wet face into the crook of his own arm still clinging desperately to the house, to what he knew. He heard her hum soothingly against the back of his head where she had her cheek pressed against him.

Behind them he heard the police man clear his throat and step down closer. “It’s gonna be alright, son. Time to get on your feet.”

And oh, that  _grated_.

Taking a shuddering breath Edgar wiped his face and stood. Behind him Mrs. Reid sighed, sounding irritated and he wondered if she was upset with how long this was taking. He stood a little straighter and swallowed down his embarrassment. He could handle leaving the building.

Edgar walked out as quickly as he dared. Mrs. Reid followed close behind him, her hand coming up to pat his arm as the officer locked up behind them. He stared blankly at the dashboard as they drove away, powerless against the fear of saying goodbye to his home even for a week. Instead he kept his eyes down and plucked at a loose thread in the knee of his pants. At first things were uncomfortable and quiet, Rachel Reid patting his hand again when they hit a red stoplight. She pulled away uncertainly after a few moments, switching on the radio to a Top Hits station. 

Edgar glanced around the foot space of his seat uncomfortably. He wasn’t supposed to listen to this station and considered mentioning so for a brief moment but reminded himself that it wasn’t his car.

Jimmy’s mother sang along to the songs that played, seemingly at a loss for what to say to him. Several times between one song and the next she would glance over, half a word on her tongue before a new tune about being strong or lightning would pick up and chase it away.

“ . . . I can feel it.” She sang along under her breath as she pulled into the parking lot of the La Quinta Inn. Near the office Edgar spotted another officer, female this time, waiting beside a marked police vehicle. Mrs. Reid pulled into a space a few feet away. She looked around nervously before gripping his wrist with a gentle shake. “I’ll be right back, stay here.”

She got out of the car with a chilly blast of outside air. Edgar frowned, not sure why he had to sit in the car when they were getting him a room. Still, they probably knew better about what was happening and what to do than he did so he stayed put, tightly clutching his brother's bag.

Outside Mrs. Reid and the officer were talking. Edgar watched as they had their discussion, Jimmy’s mother gesturing to the car, the hotel and in some vague direction away from it. After a while they both walked back to him, Mrs. Reid’s gentle rasp and the officer’s low tone becoming clearer the closer they got.

“I know there’s nothing wrong with this place. I just wanna ask. I just don’t feel comfortable leaving is all.”

“I understand. Officer Myers is, you know,” she made a vague hand gesture in the air, “one of those types. Some of the ones around his age have very set-in ideas about that sort of thing.”

“I hear ya.”

“Shit like this ain’t easy for anyone to deal with.”

They pulled open the doors about the same time, Mrs. Reid the driver’s side and the officer one of the ones in the back. Quickly they settled in regarded Edgar expectantly. He turned in his seat to look at both women.

The officer,  a black woman who looked to be perhaps in her late forties,  smiled beatifically at him. “Mrs. Reid was saying that you know her son?”

Edgar nodded. He did know Jimmy, yes.

“Well, she had a suggestion that we thought you might like to consider.”

[]

The apartment was dark by the time he got in. Quietly he slouched inside, leaning against the front door to give his eyes a moment to adjust.

He’d called Rachel from the desk phone at the library and had severely ticked off the librarian with his use of ‘degenerate language’ after finding out about about his mother’s plan.

_ “What difference does courtesy really make in this situation, Jimmy? You said yourself that its fine, I don’t understand what you’re upset about.” _

Jimmy wasn’t sure what time Rachel was planning on being home. She had said she would cover for him but he wasn’t exactly sure what she’d meant by that. He had only known that she’d needed him out clearing up his trade so that neither of them got caught up in the cop drama sure to surround their late night guest. Slowly he crept into the hall and slipped into the bathroom.

It took nearly an hour in the shower to get all of the dirt off. He scrubbed under his nails, scraping off black nail polish with the thin scratchy rag, leaving his skin clean and red. When he finally felt safe enough to get out he left the shower on an extra five minutes, tossing his clothes inside and letting them soak. He sat on the toilet and waited, his head buried in his hands. There was nothing else he could do.

His mind flitted from one possibility to another, what Edgar might do, what the police might do. Maybe Rachel was right, maybe having him nearby was for the best. Or maybe not. The situation was so up in the air and it gave Jimmy a distinct tug of anxiety, twisting his stomach into knots. The quiet of the apartment was getting to him too. He lifted his head and looked around the bathroom.

Rachel’s beauty shit was out on the counter, tucked into a glittery gold makeup pouch only inches from his toothbrush. He glowered, remembering how much he needed the extra income in the house.

Apartment, whatever.

He snatched his toothbrush and threw it into ‘his’ drawer viciously. He had a drawer again, he’d have to clean out one for Rachel. If he left it to her she’d go through it for what she considered trash and start throwing shit out. 

No, not again.

_ “If you’re not mad about me bringing him here then what are you mad about? I can’t read your goddamn mind.” _

Seething, and simultaneously relieved, Jimmy pulled open the jankest drawer under the sink and started shoveling his things out. He rearranged his stuff the way he always seemed to need to when Rachel came back. With a final slam of the drawer that left it hanging at an awkward angle Jimmy left the bathroom so mixed up and exhausted he no longer cared about keeping quiet. She always made things complicated around the apartment.

_ “What Jimmy, just say it because he’ll be out of the shower soon and I don’t want him to hear us yelling at each other over the phone. You weren’t there, you didn’t see how things were. Just fucking say it.” _

_ “Its fucking fine that he’s there. What I’m not fine with is you deciding without checking with me first. I’ve been living there without you for nearly 8 months now. You only just moved back in.” _

_ “Does it change anything?” _

_ “That's not the fucking point-” _

_ “Then its not relevant. Make your peace with it before you come home. I’ll be out covering for your ass until late. Don’t take it out on him or we’ll both go.” _

_ “RACHEL!” _

_ “I’m serious.” _

He stared at his door, towel slung around his waist, tiredly realizing that he’d have to clear out a bit of space for Edgar as well. It could wait till morning.

The room was freezing when he finally came in. The first thing he saw was the parted curtains and the fact that Edgar was sleeping with his head at the foot of the bed, nearest to the window. Outside his family’s building was a smear of dirty white in the dark, yellow police tape stark against the double doors.

Jimmy looked around, warily noting that nothing else looked messed with. Satisfied for the moment he dug around blindly for a shirt and some pants, dressing quickly and debating the entire time which direction he should lay in. He kinda wanted to lay with their heads on the same side but it was way too cold by the window. Decisions, decisions . . . and nope. His hair was wet. Fuck that shit.

He realized that night that sleeping near another person was easier when drunk. It was even harder to try a second time after his interloper of a mother barged into his room and woke him at 4am to go over where he went after the police showed up at Edgar’s home.

“I”ll wake you up when they get here. I don’t think I can sleep right now.”

It felt like seconds after his head hit the pillow that he heard Satan in his ear again.

“Jimmy, they’re here.” Rachel shook him.

“Hmmmrgh.”

“Wake up.”

Beside him Edgar shuffled and grunted when Jimmy’s foot kicked him right between the shoulder blades. Morning light was streaming into the room along with cool air and through his open door he blearily noticed a couple of men loitering about by his TV.

“Come on, sweety. Time to talk to them, they said it would only take a minute.” His mother smiled wanly at him, obviously worried he’d screw things up. She was always ready for that. Didn’t matter how many months without her he survived, she expected him get caught up in something that she’d have to fix.

As if he couldn’t sort out his own fucking whereabouts after the clusterfuck of cops showed up yesterday. As if he didn’t know people who’d vouch for him in a pinch, whose vices were kept secret as long as he was free.

Mothers, right?

He let Rachel explain to a drowsy and embarrassed Edgar what was going on as another officer escorted him out into the alley. 

Being tired made him seem off-guard. Being clean-faced made him seem more honest. Living with Rachel made him seem more like a kid. He recounted the night before, ‘nervously’ admitting to getting drunk with a friend, lesser evils and all, seeing Edgar. Dragging the older teen to his house and falling asleep beside him. Waking up in the early hours to help Rachel bring in some of her stuff from her ex’s apartment. Falling asleep again next to a still passed out Edgar.

The officer frowned severely at his account of the night before and Jimmy wondered if maybe he wasn’t giving off the vibes he’d hoped he was.

No he hadn’t heard anything across the alley. No they hadn’t been gone more than five minutes. Yes he knew the name of the friend driving his mother and her stuff. No Jimmy had not taken anything of Edgar’s after he’d gone to help his mother’s other friend Jelly pack up her studio apartment in the morning like he’d promised he would a week ago. Yes, she’d verify that.

Across the alley the white building of Edgar’s family stood hollow and hungry, seeming to suck the energy right out of the air. God, he needed a smoke. Jimmy rubbed his eyes, if he’d known that night behind the convenience store that  this was how things would turn out, he’d have probably avoided the whole mess entirely. He said as much to the detective beside him.

The officer paused with a sharp look at the heavy metal door of the apartment complex.

“Jimmy, its against the recommendation of some of the senior officers that he stay here. Your mother is insistent that Edgar not be alone, that he might hurt himself. As his friend, would you agree with her.” The man’s expression was pleasant, a startling contrast to how it looked only moments ago. 

Jimmy sneered at the invitation, unhappy with how complicated things had become but unwilling to give the asshole what he wanted just for the sake of it.

“His entire family is gone,” He said, remembering with irritating accuracy the speech Rachel had given him the night before, “I have absolutely no idea why he might try to hurt himself. Having your whole life uprooted, being permanently separated from your support network, knowing the kids you helped raise are dead too,” Jimmy rolled his eyes at the other man, “that’s all probably a fucking cakewalk. I’ve no goddamned clue why she thinks he might try something stupid”

[]

Edgar took comfort in the silent support of Rachel Reids as the officer explained that the investigation surrounding his family’s death was now a murder investigation.  After the two men left, Jimmy returned. 

“Really Edgar,” Mrs. Reids patted his arm, “I just got off the phone with him. Its fine, everything is fine.”

But Edgar wasn’t so sure. Jimmy spared him a brief glance before disappearing into his bedroom muttering about meeting with someone. Rachel patted his shoulder and whispered, voice raspy, that he’d be going with her the next day while she finished helping her friend Jelly move into her new place.

Jelly, she explained, was a dancer friend of hers. One of the best dancers she knew personally. Jelly wanted to from a young age be a ballerina but extenuating circumstances had prevented it. Her looks were not suitable to dance, her body type wrong for the roles she wanted. 

“It’s such a shame,” Rachel mourned, “Jelly is such a talented dancer. Pole dancing is its own sport that requires its own training,” she held out her palms to him, raising her right hand a little higher and adopting Jimmy’s secretive smile, “but dancing at the Saloon ain’t like dancing for Royalty in London. The only customers who want to see a tragedy here are the depraved kind.” She smirked at Edgar’s flummoxed face.

“The Saloon?” He’d been thrown by the pole dancing bit but refrained from commenting for the sake of being polite. This woman, however distasteful her profession, was taking him in.

“Yeah,” she sank a little more comfortably into the couch, “Being a sad, sweet thing people feel sorry for only works if you’re trying to charm a certain type of Sugar Daddy.” Rachel laughed at the look on his face. “Lets make something to eat. I’m starving.”

Edgar thought to himself that she may well be, on some level. He wondered if being so thin was a necessity for her job or if lack of money played a part. He winced, realizing he had no means of contributing outside of what little money may have been left in the house.

“Ah hah!” Rachel pulled her head out of the freezer waving several prepackaged, re-heatable dinners in the air. “SUCCESS!” 

“Be back later!”  Jimmy was a blur as he left, make-up a deliberate and drawn-on exhaustion as opposed to the natural under-eye bags he’d been sporting earlier. Edgar jumped at the sound of the front door banging shut.. 

“JIMMY, DON’T SLAM THE DOOR YOU GODDAMN HEATHEN!”

“CAN YOU SLAGS SHUT THE FUCK UP!” A man from down the hall chipped in. Edgar turned to her not sure what to say and she shrugged and screamed back that the man could go fuck himself with a crowbar. A tired glimmer of amusement flickered through him as he followed Rachel’s instructions on preparing the perfect Chicken Tender dinner. After they’d eaten he helped her unpack the stacked boxes in her room.

Later in the comforting darkness of the smaller bedroom Jimmy wormed uncomfortably close and explained that Rachel’s tendency to smother everyone was an attempt to prove that being a stripper didn’t exempt her from being a decent person. 

“She thinks that being everyone’s mother excuses the fact that she oils herself up on stage for money.” Jimmy hissed, voice sharp and loud against the hum of noise from the open window by their heads. “She thinks that when she walks off that stage she leaves her patrons behind.”

Edgar judged by tone of voice and what he could see of that wide, mocking smile that Rachel’s son didn’t agree. Frigid, skinny fingers would ghost along his inner arm before Jimmy rolled over and ignored Edgar for the rest of the night.

[]

End Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got 15 chapters planned for this story so far. Hope you're in for the long haul.


End file.
